


Art Appreciation

by deedeeinfj



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7890892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to "Murder in Montparnasse."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a short, weird, random thing.

"Lately, you're full of surprises," Phryne smiled.

Jack concentrated all of his will into keeping his eyes on hers. To not look at that painting. To pretend that he had no interest in that painting. To convince himself and her that the heat he felt licking his neck and cheeks had nothing to do with that little bit of bare flesh arching from the canvas like an offering.

"It's all part of the job," he said.

The gaze under which she pinned him was too knowing, her red lips betraying a hint of amusement. She was laughing at him, he could see. But she was also intrigued by him; she, too, was blushing. The room suddenly seemed stifling, the air heavy with expectation and things unspoken and a kiss he could still taste.

As if to challenge her and to assure himself that his will wasn't made of pudding, he looked again at the painting. He could almost feel her eyes on him, cat-like, as he studied every inch of the figure in a calm, unhurried caress. He extended two fingers and traced the lines of the figure's body from the nose to the beautifully rounded hip and down the left leg, only a whisper between his skin and the paint. Did he only imagine the soft sound of her breath catching?

"This is beautifully done," he said without raising his head. "It was painted from life, I assume."

"Yes."

"She's completely vulnerable in baring her body to the viewer, yet power radiates from her." His fingertip followed the line from hip to ankle again. "You're exquisite." He cleared his throat. "She - she is exquisite. Exquisitely rendered."

"Thank you, Jack," she murmured.

The figure seemed to beg for his lips to kiss a path down the elegant length of her throat to the erect nipple to the concave plane between hip bone and navel. He let his eyes do it instead. He wanted to slip his hand between those thighs and slide it up, up...

"The apples reflect the red cushions behind her," he said, his finger circling the fruit, "and the stem her nipple. 'Thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples,'" he quoted absently.

His name, whispered, caused him to remember himself and look up at her. Her chest flushed pink under the sheer fabric of her blouse. Her eyes were no longer sparkling with mischief and amusement, but dark and wanting.

"Did you like kissing me, Jack?" she asked.

"Part of the job, Miss Fisher. I felt that I had no choice. You--"

"I didn't ask you why you did it," she interrupted. "I asked if you liked it."

His defenses already destroyed by her teasing, her presence, her perfume, and the painting of her naked body between them, he could only reply, "Yes." He stood, desperate to rest his eyes on anything but her face or the painting. "Goddammit. Of course I liked it." He escaped to the comfort of retrieving his hat and coat. "I have to get back to the station," he said.

"Good night, then," she called, and if there was disappointment in her voice, he tried not to hear it.


End file.
